


like pages

by momorikos (orphan_account)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 04:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/momorikos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroko's own subtle warmth and brand of friendliness lingers with the promise of an invitation when he says, “It's good to see you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> "if i lived till i was 102 / i just don't think i'll ever get over you"  
> \-- [colin hay](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5J-DtKldpE)

Seeing him feels like everything through junior and high school crashing back to Ryouta in a span of a few seconds. It seems like the years, closer to ten than five, have been slowly ticking by when the calendars he's thrown out have been marked, carefully, with lunches and dinners and photo-shoots and basketball practices and reminders about birthday gifts have shown to the contrary. (Really, has it been that long? He repeats to himself as he weaves through people, his palms sweating and pulse thready as he politely makes apologies and takes care not to jostle a testy looking toddler and her frazzled looking father. It's not so much that there's an unchanging familiarity that draws Ryouta; the other man's hair has grown out, the jacket he's wearing looks a bit too bulky for his taste, and even the dog tapping half a step behind him seems too big, too fat, too adult to be the puppy that chased basketballs and dragged off bad shoes. But there's something. Perhaps familiarity or perhaps it's merely a flutter of hope that's too quick and too impulsive for him to actually chase. It's the same fast pulsed hope that has never quite managed to fade since junior high when Ryouta had been acknowledged, had seen what might have been a beginning tendril of warmth and fondness despite the clipped, too formal words he'd been offered time and time again.

Ryouta feels his breath catch in his throat when his fingertips almost brush against the sleeve of the other man's jacket and his heart jumps when he catches the other's gaze—same eyes, same expression, save the darker shadows smudged beneath his wide eyes—he's, _god_. What should he even say? Breathless hellos don't seem right for this but—

“Kurokocchi,” his mouth curls around the name before he can think or feel or—

“Kise-kun.”

Kuroko _smiles_ , and the expression is calm, almost the exact same one he sees in the yearbooks tucked away on bookshelves that are only brought down when Satsuki is warm and affectionate from good food and the beers Riko favor, but it's a touch warmer than he remembers it being. Ryouta feels as if the breath has been punched out of him. He can't quite stop the way his own smile spreads, furls outwards and sweeps away the anxiety over being brushed off, of reaching for a man who would startle in surprise and sweep Ryouta away and leave him with stilted apologies and an inward stammering frustration of hoping too much for things that should have been out of the realm of possibility. He sucks in a sharp, nervous breath at the honest and subtle curve of Kuroko's mouth; the softness around his eyes feels new and familiar and Ryouta feels warmer than he did before.

The smile has twitched away from his lips in favor of searching for the right words, the right questions—how can I make you stay just a few minutes loner—when Kuroko speaks again; and Kuroko's own subtle warmth and brand of friendliness lingers with the promise of an invitation when he says, “It's good to see you.”

 

 *

 

“Literature?”

Ryouta raises an eyebrow and grins around the rim of the recyclable cup he's been carefully sipping at for the past twenty minutes. Nigou, grayer and heavier than the last time Ryouta saw him, sleeps soundly at Kuroko's feet, nose pressed against his tail, and big paws twitching against the tip of Kuroko's toes every once in a while. “Yes,” Kuroko says calmly. He tilts his head to one side and sighs noisily when Ryouta keeps staring down at his drink, torn between smiling in embarrassingly open fondness and giggling at the way Kuroko's face is beginning to pink. “It cannot truly be that surprising, Kise-kun.”

He stifles a laugh against his cup. “I wasn't making fun of you,” he can't quite keep the amused lilt from his voice. Ryouta grins at the slight pout that softens Kuroko's mouth. He rests his cup against his thigh and allows himself to snicker momentarily. “I thought you wanted to be a kindergarten teacher,” he glances at Kuroko from the corner of his eye and watches carefully as the other man picks at his empty cup. His expression seems far off. Melancholy. “Kurokocchi?”

“I am a teacher.”

“It's not really the same.”

Kuroko hums and leans forward to rub behind Nigou's ears. “It's not,” Ryouta catches a glimpse of a quiet smile as Nigou yawns and stretches, his paws scraping against the side of Ryouta's shoe. “But I am happy enough, Kise-kun; and I have yet to run out of options.”

“Oh?” Ryouta raises his eyebrows; concerned by the faraway look in Kuroko's eye and the solemn way he frowns in the silence that settles delicately around them. Nigou stretches again and breaks the tension with a low whine before rolling onto his back. “You've made plans then?”

“I am considering visiting America. Perhaps even staying long term.”

“Oh.” Ryouta breathes out sharply, quietly and a part of him, Ryouta wishes he could say it was a small part, feels petty and slighted. _Our timing has always been off_ , he thinks. He brings his cup to his lips again to hide his frown. “What made you decide that?”

“Kagami-kun expressed a desire to live together again,” Kuroko says mildly, “and has generously offered me a place to stay long term if I made the decision to remain there and it has been some time since I have seen him.”

Ryouta nods; his is jaw tense and fingers are twitching. He takes a measured sip and folds the jealousy bubbling up down, away from grasp, as he measures his words and schools his expression into something acceptable as he thinks, again and again, _why can't we get this right_. He wonders if Kuroko can see the cracking edges of the half-grin twitching along his lips. “I'm happy for you, Kurokocchi.” Kuroko narrows his eyes. Ryouta closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at the suspicion pinching at the other man's features. “I _am_.”

“You can stop pretending to be mature.” Kuroko huffs. “I know you, Kise-kun.”

Ryouta pouts. “I've grown up.”

“You've always been good at acting, Kise-kun.” Ryouta slumps in the park bench, kicks at a stray leaf, and gets a narrowed glare from Nigou for his efforts. “I am only puzzled as to why you're sulking.”

“I haven't seen you in a while,” is all Ryouta offers, “and now I learn you're going to be _leaving_.”

Kuroko makes a soft, pleased noise. “It has been a long time, hasn't it.”

“You don't have to sound so happy about it.”

“Don't make assumptions.”

“I wasn't—”

Kuroko reaches across the short distance between, brushes his fingertips along the back of Ryouta's knuckles, and smiles. The expression is soft and as warm as Kuroko's steady voice when he murmurs, almost shyly, “It is nice to know I would be missed, Kise-kun.”

**Author's Note:**

> i don't have an excuse. i just wanted to write cute kikuro.


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